


Every Unhappy Family

by Mara



Category: Southern Arcana - Rogers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Moira Rogers' <i>Crossroads,</i> two characters have a chat. Or rather, one chats and the other is surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Unhappy Family

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the book. Fairly big ones. If you haven't read the novels _Crux_ and _Crossroads_...why not? Go buy 'em now. I'll be here when you're done reading.

John Wesley Peyton sat at his kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. He was sure it was excellent coffee, because he never allowed anything less in his home, but he wasn't particularly tasting it. He wasn't even sure how much coffee he'd had. Was this his third cup?

The sound behind him was very small, but enough to cause him to whirl around, knocking over the chair and nearly upsetting the coffee. After recent events, he couldn't be sure who might choose to attack him.

Which was why he simply froze when Mahalia Tate strolled in, sparing him barely a glance before she began rummaging through his refrigerator and pulling pots off the pot rack. It wasn't until she'd begun chopping onions that he found his voice. "What are you _doing_?"

She completely ignored his question. "I'm glad to see you're drinking coffee rather than alcohol, at least."

"Ms. Tate, how did--" He stopped, realizing how stupid the question was. She had replaced the spells on his locks after Michelle blew out every spell in the penthouse during her short time there. Obviously she could pass them any time she wanted. He carefully picked up his chair and placed it back at the table as he selected his next words. "Why are you here? I thought you were returning to Florida."

"Fine friend I'd be to Nicole if I let you rusticate here alone." Pushing the onions aside, she started on celery, her knife moving quickly and surely.

"So you came to...cook for me?" He sat back down at the table.

"I figured you'd be sitting here thinking your daughters hated you and you had nothing to live for. That's not a right state for my enemies, let alone my allies." She finally glanced over her shoulder at him.

"I..." He couldn't entirely disagree with her assessment, so he let it go. "You do realize that if I wanted anything to eat, I have an entire staff who could either make it or purchase it for me?"

"Uh-huh." Her tone managed to convey utter contempt for the cooking skills of, well, anyone who wasn't her.

He was sorely tempted to order her to leave him alone, but it broke the number one rule of being the Alpha: If you can avoid it, never give an order you know will be refused. Instead he sat and held his cup of cold coffee and watched her cook. He wasn't entirely sure what she was making, but it started to smell good very quickly and his stomach--to his surprise--grumbled.

When she had most of her ingredients in pots cooking, she leaned against the counter near the stove, arms crossed, and looked at him.

John was the Alpha, by God, and he held her gaze steadily.

She spoke first, although he didn't fool himself that it was because she was intimidated by him. "Your girls don't hate you, John. And neither do I."

"I was under the impression you were quite angry with me," he said, avoiding the first statement.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, but I don't hold a grudge." John raised an eyebrow and she looked away. "Well, I don't _always_ hold a grudge. That's not the point, though. You did the best you could in a bad situation and you love your girls. That goes a long way with me. And with them. They know you tried."

He went back to staring at his cup. "You were right, I attempted to trade one daughter's freedom for another. And despite my efforts, Aaron is dead and Michelle married to Luciano. And I nearly married Nicole off to someone she didn't love."

"And none of those is your fault." She snorted. "And to think I wondered where the Peyton girls got their ability to take all the guilt on themselves. Look, shapeshifter politics suck. And you haven't singlehandedly brought the Council into the 20th century, let alone the 21st. But you did try."

"Not hard enough." The words were bitter on his tongue.

"Probably not." Shrugging, she turned and stirred a few different pots, turning one down to low. "It's always easy to see that when it's all gone down, but hard to know ahead of time."

"So I should sit back and take comfort in the fact that I didn't know I was going to screw up?" He started to cross his arms, but decided a defensive tone of voice was bad enough.

"Hell, no. I'm just saying that everybody screwed up here and you're not allowed to take all the blame. And you're not allowed to sit and brood until some idiot realizes you're an easy target for a challenge."

"Why not?" He could have gone on about how it didn't matter if he couldn't protect his daughters or make them happy, but he suspect Mahalia Tate could read between the lines with the best of them.

"Because Nicole and Michelle would be ashamed of you. And you've got a hell of a lot of work ahead of you if you're going to make a better world for your grandson."

He did, didn't he?

"Now sit there and let me feed you and you can tell me what you're going to do next. Because I can't believe you don't have some ideas."

She pulled several bowls out of a cabinet and started pouring things in them. His stomach growled again and she grinned over her shoulder. "Fine, Mahalia, you win."

"It's not about winning. It's about taking care of family. You should know that."

And John realized that he did. He just hadn't understood Nicole's definition of family until now. It was an idea he needed to consider.

"Just remember to eat while you're thinking," Mahalia said.

"Of course." And for the first time in what felt like months, John Wesley Peyton smiled.

\--end--


End file.
